


The sensed absence of God

by Ryuutchi



Category: Hebrew Bible
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, F/M, Feminist Themes, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it a fact or a weapon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sensed absence of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redletters/gifts).



It's not that she hates men, no more than all women do  
with a fire that sizzles and burns her stomach and brain like pieces of seared meat  
She swallows hard against it, and smiles at his touch, greedy and thoughtless as an infant's grasp  
He means well.  
He keeps her in jewels and in dresses, (he says) and in return she is beautiful and ready for him

But when his skin goes hot and then cold, like the last dying flare of a candle  
or a sun  
She mourns the way women do, with fear and relief and an ear to the ground  
and another ear to heaven, listening for the sounds of freedom being wrenched away.  
It sounds like boots on hard floor and drunken laughter  
They think she's listening to God, but she's only listening to her gut

Thirst sears her throat, she has been scalded breathing in the hot air blown out by  
(Uzziah, Chabris, Charmis) the desert.  
It will take her longer than five days to die of such thirst.  
Women learn to breathe that fire in their first breath, and she has already had her thirty years of it.

Her bags were already packed, with knives sharp as tongues,  
food to sustain a body, and her beauty rolled up and stored neatly in case of emergency.

She unrolls and shakes out her beauty, examining it in the light for rips or tears.  
Her maid points out where it's worn in the seams, and darns it with careful fingers,  
cautiously patching, but only if the stitches won't show.  
It must hold up to the bawling of men, of their fingers pulling at her hem  
and shine like a hearthfire to hide her cold disdain shooting sparks like missiles

His death, when it comes, caresses her hands as warm as a coat on a chilly night, and it is almost soothing.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Marge Piercy and Margaret Atwood, whose poetry inspired this piece.
> 
> The graphic includes the settings for Judith and Artemisia Gentileschi from Judy Chicago's "The Dinner Party" installation (pictures c. Judy Chicago and the Boston Museum). Quote taken from Cynewulf's old English poem, "Judith".


End file.
